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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591884">UNDERCURRENT</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_who_the_river_could_not_hold/pseuds/she_who_the_river_could_not_hold'>she_who_the_river_could_not_hold</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fics for t100 Fic for BLM Initiative [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, Lighthouses, Mentions of Character Death, POV Raven Reyes, Sexual Tension, a different kind of fairytale, featuring mermaids seagulls and one (1) vague sex dream, shared room</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:40:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_who_the_river_could_not_hold/pseuds/she_who_the_river_could_not_hold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven Reyes has been taking care of the lighthouse just off the coast of Arkadia for years now; she doesn’t need anyone’s help. But that doesn’t stop Clarke Griffin from showing up on her doorstep one night. With her, she brings storms and confusion. A helping hand and a distraction. And Raven learns that maybe not everything, including feelings, can be always be explained.</p><p>  <i>A Princess Mechanic fairy tale with a twist.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clarke Griffin/Raven Reyes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fics for t100 Fic for BLM Initiative [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>UNDERCURRENT</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to my first Princess Mechanic fic! This is written as a part of t100 Fic for Black Lives Matter and was prompted by my partner, who so wonderfully asked if he could prompt something from me. If this is the first you’ve heard of the t100 Fic for BLM, it’s an initiative where writers and content creators are accepting prompts for donations that help support the BLM cause. If you want to learn more about it, you can check out the carrd for it <a href="https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/">here</a>!</p><p>This fic is inspired by Robert Eggers’ <i>The Lighthouse</i>, one of my partner’s and my favorite movies––though it certainly has a few of my own creative liberties! Mainly, I couldn’t follow through with the amazing dialogue that Eggers used to perfectly capture the late 1800s speaking patterns. So while I’ve made sure to keep the essence of the dialogue, they do speak normally. In the author’s note below, you’ll also be able to find a glossary of terms that I’ve used in case you’re not familiar with phrases and words from that profession. I’ve created a moodboard for it <a href="https://she-who-the-river-could-not-hold.tumblr.com/post/639569905427087360/undercurrent-a-princess-mechanic-the">here</a> on my Tumblr!</p><p>This is a somewhat odd story, a different take on what feels like could be an old fairy tale mixed with the strangeness of a really unique film. I hope you enjoy the journey and thanks for checking it out!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>un·der·cur·rent</b>
</p><p>/ˈəndərˌkərənt/</p><p>
  <b>noun: </b>
</p>
<ol>
<li>an underlying feeling or influence, especially one that is contrary to the prevailing atmosphere and is not expressed openly.</li>
<li>a current of water below the surface and moving in a different direction from any surface current</li>
</ol><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The weather should have been Raven’s first indication that something was wrong.</p><p>As seabirds sang in the distance, their throaty caws echoing in the air, she paused at the door to the lighthouse. </p><p>The sea was still today. Almost too still. The sky was a pale, almost iridescent blue against the horizon of the deep gray of the ocean. The wind was non-existent, only the smallest hint of a breezing dancing with the ends of her ponytail. </p><p>All in all –– it was too pleasant out.</p><p>It felt like an omen.</p><p>Maybe not a bad omen for most, not when the usual crashing of the waves could mean a near-certain death if it wasn’t for the beacon of light guiding them home.</p><p>But after more than a year here on the jagged rocks of a small island off of the Arkadia coastline, Raven didn’t trust nice weather. </p><p>It meant that Mother Nature was building up, swelling in anticipation of letting go in an even more vicious way than she usually did.</p><p>And as usual, Raven was right.</p><p>XXX </p><p>Clarke Griffin, it turned out, was not a man.</p><p>The omen that Raven had felt in her bones had turned out to then be a telegram, arriving her way later that same day. Crumpled and water stained, it had informed Raven that someone was being sent out to work with her at the lighthouse. A doctor in practice, a helping hand around the place as needed. </p><p>Raven more than needed assistance, but she didn’t actually want any help. This was <em> her </em> lighthouse.</p><p>It stood tall and proud against the craggy shore, weathered from the briny sea below it. Its sides were far from the pristine white it must have been once; instead, it now was dirty and faded and perfect in her eye. There was a special language to this isolated lifestyle. She’d been running it for years now and the last thing she wanted was someone new to come and disturb it. And certainly not some type of city slicker named Clarke. While a medic wouldn’t be entirely useless, Raven had figured out over the years how to take care of herself as needed and the role still felt redundant. She’d probably be distracted by having to help him learn the ropes and then also deal with a man’s ego being bruised at a young woman having to show him around a lighthouse.</p><p>But it turned out that Clarke, while a masculine enough sounding name when only typed out in a telegram and read from faded ink, was also a young woman. With long pretty blonde hair, rosy wind-stained cheeks, and porcelain hands. </p><p>Raven scoffed and almost slammed the door right in her expectant face.</p><p>“Ms. Reyes!” A sharp hit against the door. “Please open this door immediately. I’m not planning on going anywhere -- no matter how determined your efforts might be!”</p><p>Her instinct was to test that theory. Few people were able to rival her own stubbornness –– a trait she held with pride.   </p><p>But at the same time, Raven couldn’t just leave her out there. As Clarke Griffin had come into the island on a small steamboat, so had a dense fog. It had rolled in just behind her, swallowing up the land and ocean around it and even the foghorn from the boat as well. Thick and muted gray, it had sunk the island into an early nightfall. Leaving the woman out there alone was just asking for trouble for both of them. Plus, Raven wouldn’t write off the potential of her breaking one of the windows to get in.</p><p>So she swung the door back open to properly assess the new arrival.</p><p>Her original view of her remained: a round-face that managed to be pretty even with the woman’s jutted jaw and frown. Wind-whipped blonde hair that managed to shine even in the dull light seeping past Raven, the stiff black coat buttoned up to her chin highlighting the rosiness of her cheeks. </p><p>She was almost doll-like and if it wasn’t for the fierce determination that was laced through her posture, Raven would have doubted she had the inner strength to be a medic let alone work at a secluded lighthouse.</p><p>“I don’t need some city doctor,” Raven spat out, crossing her arms over her chest. “If I needed anyone, which I don’t, I’d need a wickie. An honest to God wickie, not a princess who can’t tell a barnacle from an oyster and just knows how to apply a bandage.”</p><p>Clarke shrugged, stepping in closer. </p><p>“Why can’t I be both? I would hope you wouldn’t require medical attention at all times. I’m more than happy to be useful in between any sort of incident that requires my services.”</p><p>There was no possible way that she had any experience that would equate itself to this, but as room creaked around them Raven felt herself begin to waver.</p><p>“Jaha really sent you here then? Medical background and all?”</p><p>“I believe that was a large part of my selection,” Clarke replied primly.</p><p>Raven growled, looking out beyond Clarke and into the darkness of the night. <em> Man plans, Jaha laughs, </em> she thought darkly at the idea of the man who was the establishment. Thelonious Jaha who’d first assigned her this role when she’d become a wickie herself. At first, she’d been thankful that he hadn’t written her off for being a woman, but over the years she’d seen and heard of all of his infuriating ways of sticking his nose into everyone’s business. Knowing his craftiness, she had a feeling he’d known what her reaction would be to Clarke. For a man so rooted in his religion, he certainly had his own righteous streak to him.</p><p>But while Jaha was many things, mostly frustrating ones, he was also good at his job. He took it –– and all things in life –– seriously. If he’d sent Clarke, then there was a reason for it.</p><p>Despite how much Raven didn’t want to see it.</p><p>“Alright,” she finally said, “you can stay. I’m going to put you to work though. You won’t just get to sit around waiting for an emergency or a health scare.”</p><p>“You won’t regret it,” Clarke replied. A smile took over her face for the first time since she’d shown up and Raven despised the internal double take she’d had. </p><p>So instead, she just kept glowering until Clarke’s expression grew pointed and she asked where she could drop off her bag. Raven pointed her in the direction where to go and sullenly wondered why it was so impossible for her to make great first impressions.  </p><p>A little while later, Clarke came stomping back down the stairs and into the kitchen. With her bag now officially up in the cramped bedroom upstairs, her heavy overcoat removed, it felt even more official. Raven had a new work partner. </p><p>And dinner was going to be their first task together.</p><p>The start of it was fine, both women choosing to operate in silence rather than speak to each other. Raven was more than okay with that. Quiet was her preferred ambience no matter who she was with. They slopped the leftover stew that Raven was nearly done with onto scratched tin plates, then sat down at the dining table.</p><p>Dining table was a generous term for it. It was a simple, small wooden table shoved up against the wall with two rickety chairs with it. But it was all any keeper needed –– so Raven thought it was perfect.</p><p>Clarke’s wrinkling of her nose clearly indicated her thoughts on the matter.</p><p>She settled into her chair though all the same, the light from the single kerosene lamp balanced on the table flickering against her hair. Raven studied her briefly before shaking it off, instead choosing to lean back out of her chair and grasp the brown glass bottle tucked behind her. In it, a dark liquid sloshed around as she pulled it up to the table.</p><p>Popping the cork with her teeth, Raven poured some into her tin cup. The smell of the liquor, home-brewed and barely considered gin if she was honest, was potent. </p><p>She passed the bottle over to Clarke’s side of the table and waited for her to fill up her own cup, raising her cup in preparation of a toast. But instead, her new wickie simply continued to poke at the food in front of her as if she hadn’t noticed anything.    </p><p>Raven eyed Clarke, unsure if she was more curious or suspicious. </p><p>“It’s bad luck to leave a toast unfinished.”</p><p>It was Clarke’s turn to look at her. She slowly lifted her head up from her plate, catching Raven’s gaze. Her eyes were the color of the ocean, on a day when it wasn’t churning with anger, a rich blue that Raven was fairly certain she could drown in. </p><p>She shook that thought off as quickly as it came.</p><p>Clearing her throat, she wiggled her cup in Clarke’s direction.</p><p>With a sigh, Clarke snatched up the other cup and poured her own (though less than Raven’s). Finally prepared, she extended her arm and tapped her cup against Raven’s.</p><p>Satisfied, Raven pulled her drink back and took a swig.</p><p>It burned going down her throat. Raw, unfinished liquor. </p><p>Just how she liked it.</p><p>“I meant to disrespect,” Clarke offered after her own sip. </p><p>“If you’re not going to drink, best to have a good reason not to,” Raven said back. “Once you’re here long enough, you’ll understand.”</p><p>Clarke’s eyebrows raised minutely. “Isn’t it… against regulations?”</p><p>That brought a laugh out of Raven that she hadn’t been expecting. But she should have assumed that Clarke was the type of person to read through a manual of orders written by people who’d never manned a lighthouse before.</p><p>But that was enough of that conversation, and Raven didn’t want Clarke to mistake her toast for more than her own personal code of conduct, so she let the silence settle back between them as they finished dinner.</p><p>She caught Clarke discreetly pouring the rest of her drink down the drain after they finished cleaning up.</p><p>She’d let it slide for now.</p><p>Leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, Raven stared Clarke down. She was met with an equally cool look.</p><p>“I’ll have you start with the brass and the clockwork, and you can tidy the quarters after. There’s well more to be mended outside too, but I suppose that’ll take a bit to get to. Once the fog clears, you’ll work the dog watch––”</p><p>“The dog watch?” Clarke interjected, as if somehow that was beneath her even though she was clearly the untrained one in this situation.</p><p>“Yes, the dog watch,” Raven repeated again. This was once again an absurd conversation. </p><p>“I thought there were alternating shifts. We’ll both need to tend to the light.”</p><p>Raven’s expression hardened.</p><p>“<em> I </em> tend to the light.”</p><p>Clarke looked like she wanted to argue more but changed her mind after an awkwardly long-drawn-out beat.</p><p>“You’ll see to your duties,” Raven eventually said, her voice tight. And with that, she left Clarke to clean up the remaining dishes and returned to the chambers. </p><p>The chambers, which she’d blissfully forgotten she’d now be sharing with Miss Clarke Griffin.</p><p>The bedroom was small. There was no reason for luxuries on this island; the point of being out here was to maintain the light so that sailors and their boats could reach the shore in one piece. Which meant this room was tiny, enough to just provide sleep. Two wooden beds, barely enough for a single person, were on each side of the room. But that distance was almost inconsequential when there was only room for one nightstand in between the two. </p><p>Raven knew she only had an hour or so of sleep available to her before she had to check on the light. She ached to go up now, but she let it go for now. She’d need the rest.</p><p>But rest was impossible as she looked over at the other bed that would soon be occupied. </p><p>Clarke hadn’t brought many things; vanity being so far not one of her vices it appeared. She’d set up her bag underneath the bed, a dark lump beneath the pillow side of things. A wooden hairbrush had been shoved onto the small shelf above the bed. Raven strained her eyes trying to squint and see what was next to it.</p><p>At first, she thought it was a bottle of perfume on its side. Her first impression of the woman made her believe it for a half-second. But upon further inspection, Raven had to admit to herself it was wrong. It appeared to actually be a small scrimshaw. And then when she allowed herself to lean forward in her bed, acknowledging that she was now snooping and not just observing, she was able to discern that it was a carving of a mermaid.</p><p>The off-white ivory seemed to glow in the dim room, similar to how Clarke’s hair had shone even in the dark kitchen.</p><p>Something about the scrimshaw made it feel like it was watching her. Recoiling like she’d been caught, Raven quickly turned over on her side to face the wall. </p><p>She just needed to focus on getting some sleep in, not whatever it was that Clarke owned. </p><p>That was enough of that. </p><p>The following day, Raven began to put Clarke to work.</p><p>It wasn’t that she wanted to put her through the ringer, but she wanted to challenge her. She had to see if she was up to the task. At a lighthouse, it was paramount that a person be able to handle themselves under duress. The lives of sailors depended on it.</p><p>So she threw as much dirty work at her as she could. Nothing that would endanger them if Clarke did it wrong––Raven wasn’t confident yet in her abilities––but enough to test her out and also keep the important work to herself. And of course, watching the light.</p><p>The ramshackle buildings that were roughly connected to the lighthouse were in desperate need of help. When Raven woke up one morning, the steady <em> drip drip </em> of water tapping her forehead, she thrust the necessary supplies at Clarke with a grin and simply said, “Shingles.” Clarke had glared at her, casting a look out at the damp and drizzly day outside. But they couldn’t afford for things to leak, so out she went. She followed it up by working on the cistern and adding more oil to the lamp.</p><p>The next day, the wind blew like hell.</p><p>In between her own work on the siding of the lighthouse itself, Raven watched as Clarke struggled up the steep incline of the island, laden with a heavy bag of chalk. Clarke had so far been proving herself, so a reluctant sigh later and Raven helped her hoist the chalk the rest of the way. She didn’t mean to not warn her about the porridged brick water tank, but she did forget so she got to see Clarke’s reaction to the moldy and frothy sludge that appeared. Once she was done gagging, the two of them tipped the bag of chalk over the side and into it. Maybe now that Clarke had seen this, she’d at least give the gin a chance now. </p><p>And thus that was how it went. Raven giving Clarke a task, the two bickering and pushing each other, and then subsequently getting it done. If there was one trait that Raven learned quickly about the other woman, was that while she was stubborn, she refused to let any task fall incomplete. No matter how their pride intervened, it was always accomplished. Raven appreciated that, as much she didn’t let it show at first. It even made her smile, when no more than two hours after griping, Clarke would storm in with her hands dirty and the task complete. It was almost like clockwork.</p><p>One morning, when Clarke had announced <em> on her own </em> that she would tackle the chimneys on her own, Raven grinned into her pillow.</p><p>As she eventually rolled over to prepare herself for the day, her eye was caught by something.</p><p>The scrimshaw.</p><p>The little trinket continued to look like it was staring at her. For a brief, strange moment, the thought occurred to Raven that the delicately carved face reminded her of Clarke. She didn’t know why that felt odd to think about; no doubt if it was modeled after her then it was a gift from someone who made it in her honor. Probably someone who meant a lot to her, romantically or maybe a family member. Though she couldn’t figure out the connection to recreating her as a siren. It was an odd connection to make and she wondered about the story behind it.</p><p>But beyond the way the carved eyes seemed to practically look into Raven, she was more startled by its movement to the bedside table. While still clearly on Clarke’s side, it still felt like an intrusion of some kind. Raven just couldn’t figure out how.</p><p>XXX </p><p>Keeping guard of the light was like something she’d never experienced before this.</p><p>Pushing open the double doors of the breezeway was the best part of Raven’s day. First, into a small circular room at the bottom of the tower. Oil drums that could crush her if they fell over were sitting giants, dark shadows that enclosed the room to make it feel even smaller. They encircled the room, guiding her to stairs. Hanging from far above, centered and pointing to the middle of the room, hung the chains of the light’s clockwork. To many, even back in the big city of Polis, the technology behind light was beyond them. It was still seen as almost magical. To Raven, the mechanics behind the process fascinated her. The clinking and the clanking of the metal felt like the gears to her mind hard at work, admiring the power it took to run such a contraption.</p><p>This was as far as most wickies were allowed. At least under Raven’s command. She knew it was smarter to share the load. But this was hers. This was her own time out here on the island where she could feel and control the inner workings of the lighthouse. To be purposeful in why she was out here, in the meaning behind the job. It was crucial that everything worked to perfection and she was the only person she could trust to do the job.</p><p>Additionally, she selfishly wanted to keep the other powers of the light to herself.</p><p>She had never been a woman of faith. Even as a young girl, as her childhood chum Finn had pleaded with her to join his family at church, she’d refused. Years later, as she’d signed the necessary paperwork to come to the lighthouse, Jaha had done his best to convince her to just come out to his church just once. She’d retorted that if she was going to go to any “Church of Light,” the lighthouse would be sufficient enough for her.</p><p>Her comment had been made in jest; the reality of it was much closer than she’d originally realized.</p><p>The ring of keys attached to the side of Raven’s hip clanged against each other as she made her way to the top of the stairs. Long, spiral stairs that climbed to eternity. She could almost imagine her mother’s voice, overcome by opium, saying that it was tall enough to reach Heaven. It would have made Raven laugh, scoff if it had been her when she’d first arrived, but it felt almost too close to the truth.</p><p>Filling the air was the crashing of the waves and the clanking of the chain below like clockwork. Up there, the light swirled around her. Patterns that she’d never seen before, spinning and rippling through the air, dancing in her eyes. </p><p>Rhythmically, hypnotically. </p><p>The first time Raven had seen it she’d been instantly mesmerized. </p><p>For a smaller lighthouse on a smaller island in the north, it had an impressive light. When she’d been first assigned here, Raven had made sure to read up on everything. The hows and the whys and the whats. The lighthouse boasted a 3rd-order Fresnel lens, a technical marvel for their time. She’d been impressed by the optics it presented and secretly wondered what it would be like if she’d had the chance to ever come up with something like that. But it was rare enough for her to be allowed to run the lighthouse herself, no one would have ever dreamed to let her near the machines to build a light for it.</p><p>So instead she found herself gazing into the depths of the light. It haloed around her, blinding her as she let it suck her in.</p><p>Up here, her leg didn’t hurt––even with the near straight vertical climb up. Here, with the churning of the ocean filling her ears so she couldn’t even hear her breathing, she was transcendent.</p><p>In a way, she felt like it was cleansing her. </p><p>This was her sole purpose on this craggy rock, this light that shone out to the sea as a beacon. The heat it provided made her forget where she was. Forget how cold this god-forsaken place was and how it left a chill in your bones that you’d probably never be able to escape.</p><p>It was a physical manifestation of what she’d accomplished each day, here and leading up to this very moment.</p><p>That was why she couldn’t share the light with anyone else.</p><p>She had to retain its purity, its magic spell that it held onto her.   </p><p>If Raven believed in anything, she’d say you could see it in the light.</p><p>XXX </p><p>The weather was hovering in between a rumbling storm and just its usual, moody cloud self. The damp chill never left and Raven adjusted her jacket against the breeze as she rounded the lighthouse. She’d been doing an inventory check around the island, noting any supplies that they were running low on. Thankfully they weren’t in a bad spot, but it took so long for telegrams to reach Jaha that she had to be careful on which ones she let get too low.</p><p>As she came around the large tower, she was greeted by an unexpected sight up ahead of her.</p><p>At first, it was impossible to tell what was going on and what Clarke was doing. But as Raven walked closer, prepared to just simply an update on how the paint updates on the lighthouse were going, she realized something else entirely was going on.</p><p>She looked on with distracted horror, delayed in processing what she was seeing. </p><p>Clarke’s hair whipped in the wind, her expression feral as she let out a yell. Above her head, she held a large shovel –– that only seconds later she brought crashing down from overhead. </p><p>Right at a seagull. </p><p>“Clarke. Clarke!”</p><p>The blonde completely ignored her, going to swing once more.</p><p>Now that she was closer, Raven could see that the seagull only had one eye. It cawed back at Clarke, practically taunting her as its one eye remained trained on the shovel that swung and nearly hit it.</p><p>“Clarke –– Jesus, STOP!”</p><p>With a grunt, Clarke brandished the shovel down into the ground where she buried it into the dirt. This time, not aiming for the seagull. The bird let out a defiant squawk before lifting into flight, its eye casting a burning look at the two of them before disappearing into the sky above.</p><p>“Are you mad?!” Raven shouted in a huff.</p><p>Clarke spat some of her hair that had gotten caught up in her mouth. There was a fire in her eyes as her expression remained twisted in frustration.</p><p>“It’s bad luck to kill a seabird,” Raven continued when the blonde was still silent. </p><p>Clarke went from glowering to almost smirking.</p><p>“Let me guess, some tall tale? An old wives' tale tale of the sea?”</p><p>Raven’s hands clenched into fists. There was something cutting about Clarke’s tone –– maybe Raven was imagining it, maybe she wasn’t. But it was mocking. Crystal clear that Clarke didn’t understand the ways of the water, of the hold that ocean had on everything around them.</p><p>Her teeth gritted, she managed to spit out a repeat of her warning. “It’s. Bad. Luck. To kill. A seabird. They hold the souls of lost sailors.”</p><p>The snort that Clarke let out would have been unbecoming for a young woman to anyone who wasn’t Raven. Instead, she felt her frustration coil up inside her. </p><p>“You actually believe that some lost sailor’s soul is in that bird? Even sailors I know, as dastardly as they are, aren’t nearly as obnoxious as a bird like that. And even if that was true, it’d do it some good to put it out of its misery.”</p><p>Raven scowled, but the stalemate had already solidified between the two of them.    </p><p>The tension of the interaction didn’t fade the rest of the day.</p><p>Or the next three days.</p><p>Barked out orders, the silent treatment.</p><p>It was in a way, what Raven had assumed would be their relationship with each other since acquiescing Clarke to stay here and work. </p><p>But despite all of the extra difficult work she’d made her do, as much as she still was learning, it hadn’t gone that way at all. Raven had built up a begrudging respect for her. Nay, even a familiar banter. So few people had ever met her challenge for challenge and this sudden removal in her life cut deeply. There had been a spark whenever they had originally sparred or Clarke bemoaned a task, but now there was just empty coldness.</p><p>Until the day that Clarke almost fell and broke her leg.</p><p>She didn’t, but that wasn’t important.</p><p>She was cleaning the windows, removing years of built up grime and sludge. Barnacles that had unexplainably made their way up the shore and latched themselves onto the glass planes. It was a precarious set up: a wooden slat attached by two ropes that hung from up top, a single blade to scrape, and an aggravated blonde. </p><p>Raven didn’t see it exactly happen. She didn’t know if Clarke was a little passionate about her scraping, perhaps imagining Raven’s face or Jaha’s for sending her out here, but something threw her off balance. </p><p>She heard the scream before she heard the clang of a body hitting the side of the building.</p><p>Her own leg, permanently injured by a stray shot back in her hometown, had done its best to hold her back. But she pushed through and sprinted to the sound. Thank the sea she’d been outside when it had happened; sound traveled strangely inside or not at all in the tower. So she ran, her loose ponytail flapping in the ocean gales as she ran. </p><p>Somehow, Clarke had managed to hang on to the rope that hadn’t snapped. The left side now dangled free, the wooden slat on its own as it hung uselessly to the side. With a strength that Raven hadn’t realized Clarke had, or maybe it was the adrenaline, she was keeping herself hoisted up. A broken leg would have been a nightmare for both of them. Raven wasn’t sure what doctors did when they themselves got hurt, but with only the two of them it would make everything that much more difficult. And she knew from personal experience how detrimental an injury like that could be. She was lucky to still walk, Clarke might not have been so fortunate. </p><p>“Can you drop?” Raven shouted up, her palms sweaty as she watched Clarke sway. Her face was somehow even paler than before.</p><p>“I––I don’t know,” she called down. It was obvious she was trying to sound confident but it wasn’t as convincing as she no doubt wanted it to be.</p><p>She looked around desperately and realized that in Clarke’s haste to save herself, she’d kicked down the ladder she’d originally used to get up there.</p><p>“Hang on!” Raven shouted needlessly as she hurried over to the ladder. Carefully so as not to accidentally jostle Clarke, she pulled it upright and leaned it against the side. </p><p>She’d have to try and catch her, that was the only solution that could come to mind.</p><p>Clarke didn’t look enthusiastic about Raven’s idea as she explained it, calling it out against the wind as she climbed up the ladder. But they certainly didn’t have many options.</p><p>“Just… trust me, okay?” She pleaded. Clarke looked at her, her brow furrowed in contemplation for only a moment before she nodded.</p><p>Raven swallowed, trying to find her balance on the ladder. If something went wrong, not only might Clarke get hurt but there was a slim chance of her reinjuring herself. They had one chance.</p><p>Collecting herself, Clarke steeled herself as she adjusted her grip. Even from her lower stance, Raven could see the white of her knuckles against the rope.</p><p>“Do you want me to count you down?”</p><p>Clarke managed another nod.</p><p>For as vocal she often was, this was the quietest she’d ever been. </p><p>“Okay, okay.” Raven wiped her sweaty palms one last time on her pants before extending her arms. Her entire core was tightened like a rod, holding her upright. </p><p>“Three…”</p><p>Clarke briefly closed her eyes before opening them with determination.</p><p>“Two…”</p><p>She used her body to swing her weight slightly back, giving herself momentum to come back forward.</p><p>“One.”</p><p>Clarke let go and dropped into Raven’s open arms. She immediately grasped her by the waist, using the force and her body weight to try and slam them closer to the wall, rather than falling backwards. Luckily, she’d been able to get high enough on the rungs that Clarke’s distance from her wasn’t so far that she threw them entirely off balance. Though teetering just slightly, the ladder remained steady against the siding.</p><p>Almost wheezing from the exertion and attempt, Clarke’s chest heaved against Raven’s as she struggled to catch her breath. Raven, in turn, also let out her own shuddering breath as the nerves finally left her. She’d been so focused on how to get Clarke down that she hadn’t had time to process how terrified she’d been. </p><p>Clarke rested her forehead against Raven’s as they steadied. The motion was tender and unexpected; Raven answered with her eyes fluttering shut as they processed the moment.</p><p>“Thank you,” breathed out Clarke.</p><p>Now it was Raven’s turn to only nod. </p><p>Eventually, they both managed to carefully (and very slowly) climb back down the ladder. The windows could wait for another day. </p><p>The scare might have accomplished one thing. The past three days that had been filled with tension from their argument seemed to dissipate. It was as if it hadn’t happened. Sure, Raven still wished Clarke hadn’t listened to her more. But it was also what it was, and seagulls <em> were </em> obnoxious, even if she really did believe it was safer to believe the sailor story rather than risk it.</p><p>But Clarke’s almost injury, if not worse, was enough to make that a minor issue. It seemed absurd for them to linger on it when in the end, it wasn’t going to mean much. </p><p>Maybe it was time for a truce.</p><p>Raven let the alcohol slide down her throat, burning its way down as it coursed through her. Once she could feel it settling into her stomach, a comforting warmth enveloping her, she leaned back in the chair and cocked her head towards Clarke.</p><p>“So, what brings you out here to this rock?”</p><p>The alcohol loosened her lips.</p><p>“Most that come out aren’t as pretty as you.”</p><p>The low light of the kitchen wasn’t so dim that Raven couldn’t pick up on the flush of red staining Clarke’s cheeks from the gin. </p><p>She wasn’t even sure if she meant to flirt with her (though even she knew it was half-assed flirting at best). But since that moment she’d opened the door, she hadn’t been able to shake off her thoughts towards Clarke. She wanted to know more about her, everything about her. </p><p>“I highly doubt that you’re speaking honestly with me,” she managed to say, but she still sounded pleased with herself. </p><p>They drank a bit more, Clarke still unable to completely hide her grimace at the taste but at least it was less so the more she consumed. Raven tried again.</p><p>“What is your story, Clarke Griffin?”</p><p>Clarke shifted her weight in her seat, the aged wood scraping against the floor as she did. She seemed to be debating where she wanted to start. Her eyelashes fluttered as she thought and Raven once again found herself distracted by her face, shaking her head to bring herself back to attention once Clarke began to speak. </p><p>“I––I was married at one point.” Clarke’s eyes remained downcast. “He worked as a timberman. Nothing fancy, we lived a simple life. We were married too young, if I’m being entirely honest with you. But we were in love.”</p><p>Raven did her best to ignore the drunken pang that hit in her heart at the mention of the past husband. But she’d also been with men before so she knew it wasn’t any clear indication of anything.</p><p>But still.</p><p>The pang was there and deep.</p><p>Clarke’s voice grew thicker after she took another swig of the gin. “He died. One day I came home to his boss, a man named Kane, waiting on the doorstep of our half-finished house. My husband was hurt, injured. I’d trained under my mother as a nurse so they all hoped I could save him.”</p><p>A bitter smile overtook Clarke’s face. “But I couldn’t. I was too late. So I threw myself full time into working as a medic, so that no more people would die because of me.” She nodded around them and towards the window, where the coastline was obscured by the black of night. “I even worked on ships for a while, which is why I was comfortable accepting this position.”</p><p>“Ships?” Raven found herself interjecting. “Which ones?”</p><p>“Just small ones,” she responded with a slightly bemused expression. “The Wanheda was my favorite, she was like a dream. There were days…” her expression grew dreamy, “long days where it felt like I was in another world. What you see out there is so unexplainable. What you feel, being one with the ocean after all that time out there.” </p><p>Raven nodded along as she spoke. While she’d never spent time on the ocean herself, she’d been alongside it her whole life. She knew that feeling, felt it herself up with the light.</p><p>Maybe she’d prematurely judged Clarke. </p><p>“I understand,” she said once it was clear that Clarke was done talking. “This island, the lighthouse, it’s a similar feeling. I’ve had past lovers die as well, until it just felt like a curse.”</p><p>She’d never spoken about this with anyone else before. </p><p>It was always something she buried deep beneath her surface.</p><p>Waving her hand in the air, she stared into the depths of the gin. “It is… freeing, I suppose, to be out here. We are at Nature’s whim, whenever she may want to turn on us. All we can do is give our best, be in charge of our own choices, while knowing destiny might have a different say.”</p><p>Gin rarely made her feel poetic, never when she was sober. But something about this conversation had these thoughts spilling out of her. </p><p>With a bit of surprise, she watched as Clarke reached forward and placed her gently on hers. </p><p>Since arriving, Clarke’s hands had roughened up and grown calloused. So very different than when she’d first appeared outside Raven’s door. But there was a softness that remained, a part of her, and it made Raven’s heart thud anxiously in her chest. </p><p>But the smile that Clarke gave her in exchange relaxed her, making the burn of the gin relax into her stomach and her shoulders untense. It had been so long she’d been touched by anyone, that she blamed the sensation on that and that alone. This would have to be enough for now.  </p><p>A new sense of camaraderie settled between them. Though a silence had returned after they’d each spoken their piece, there was a sense of understanding now.</p><p>The end of the 19th century was coming upon them, but it didn’t mean that much had changed in their standing in society. And Raven found she better understood Clarke’s coming to the lighthouse. Jaha had looked at Raven with sympathy all of those years ago and no doubt had seen the same lost soul in Clarke as well.</p><p>Raven’s raised her cup up, almost spilling some of the gin in her current state. This time, in sharp contrast to Clarke’s first night there, she raised hers to meet Raven’s above the table.</p><p>The toast came to Raven without much thought, the words flowing from her before she’d even thought of what she wanted to say.</p><p>“Should pale death with treble dread make the ocean caves our bed, God who hear'st the surges roll, deign to save the suppliant soul.”</p><p>To that, the two women toasted each other, clinking their glasses.</p><p>Afterwards, after checking that the light was still on and everything as it should be, Raven stumbled to her bed for some much needed sleep. In her drunken stupor, she was just able to make out the sight of the carved scrimshaw now on her side of the bedside table. Her eyes slid shut into a deep sleep just as she had the thought that it felt like the mermaid was watching her.</p><p>XXX </p><p>
  <em> She was in the water. She was weightless, floating. If she focused hard enough, up above her she could see the light. It rotated in and out of sight, hazy in the murkiness of the deep blue water around her. But it was impossible to focus too much on the light, not like she normally did, because there were other sensations drawing her attention.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A hand traced delicately up her leg. Further and further, drawing its way up towards Raven’s stomach where it splayed out against her ribs. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She breathed out, not even concerned about her sudden ability to breathe underwater. She was too relaxed to worry about it. She was buoyant, free.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A mouth appeared at her neck, planting a line of gentle kisses up her skin.   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Teeth, just barely nipping at her ear as another hand appeared. This one moved further up than the one still pressing lightly on her stomach. Up to her chest, circling and teasing with gentle touches and pulls.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A pulsating need rocked through Raven’s body and when she moved in the water, her legs slid up against something. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Scales. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The long fin beneath her coiled around her legs, relaxing her down. Her lover remained hidden from her eyesight as Raven continued to look unfocused up above her, letting the sensations sweep over her. Heat mixing with the cold depth of the ocean that surrounded her. A dichotomy that seemed to tease her even more than the wandering hands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She reached back, her hand seeking a placement that she wasn't’ even sure of until it found its destination. Tangling up in tendrils that flowed out from her lover, silk-like in the water. Her grip tightened as the one hand continued its path lower. She was too buoyant as she floated, suspended and unable to fully move her body in the way she wanted to. To indicate where she wanted that hand to go.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Somewhere above her, the light flashed over them and she caught the glow of blonde hair that floated up from behind her.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A finger, curiously exploring.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Gasping into the water but feeling nothing fill her lungs. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The tail, fluctuating beneath her as it intertwined with her legs, edging them further apart. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The light passed by once more as Raven fell apart, drowning in ocean blue eyes.  </em>
</p><p>XXX </p><p>Raven was coming down from patching the roof (it was leaking––again), when she heard the shouting. There was a flash of a memory to Clarke dangling from the side, but she could also tell that this time it was a different cry. A rage-filled one.</p><p>Nothing about that settled well in Raven’s body.</p><p>Cautiously, her hands gripped tightly to the metal hammer in hand, she edged her way to the sound.</p><p>There was no way someone had come to the island unannounced; the rocks were too dangerous around the rest of the shore for boats to come in from any other direction. It would have been impossible for her to miss, so she was able to rule that out.</p><p>Not that it eased her mind on any sort of level.</p><p>Finally reaching the source of the sound, she felt her stomach clench. </p><p>It was the one-eyed seagull again.</p><p>But this time, it wasn’t squawking in fury, nor flapping its wings as it taunted Clarke.</p><p>It was dead on the ground. Busted wings and a smashed head, its remaining eye barely there. The grays and whites of its feathers were mottled by stains of blood.</p><p>And above him, chest heaving as she breathed heavily, was Clarke.</p><p>The young medic heard Raven walking up even before she could say anything. Her shoulders rolled back defiantly. It was an echo of their first time meeting.</p><p>Raven could only stare in horror.</p><p>Clarke stared back at her, hair wild and unkempt. There was a splatter of blood streaked across her cheek.</p><p>Her expression was almost unreadable at first, but then a slow triumphant smirk took over.</p><p>“You––you––"</p><p>Raven couldn’t even speak, her anger striking too hot to form words.</p><p>“It was following me,” Clarke replied as if she was completely unbothered by the situation. “And there was another dead seagull in the cistern, bloodying up the water. I’m exhausted of bad water and birds that never shut their damn beaks, so I killed it.”</p><p>“After I warned you not to?!”</p><p>The screech that broke out of Raven made Clarke’s confidence falter.</p><p>“Raven, it’s okay,” she shot back with a frown.</p><p>“But you don’t understand what I’m trying to convey” Raven snapped back. “This is about listening to me. Respecting me when I tell you that something is a certain way.”</p><p>Clarke’s jaw went slaw and the fight left her shoulders. But Raven wasn’t interested anymore, spinning on her heel and taking off. Doing what she’d always mocked people for doing: running away from her problems.</p><p>She couldn’t figure out why she was taking this so personally. Outside of the tasks, which were to be expected, it was the one thing she’d asked of Clarke. It almost felt like a personal slight against her. She knew it wasn’t that way, but she couldn’t shake that feeling. Not when she’d thought they were beginning to grow closer. She’d thought that they’d had an understanding.</p><p>She stormed off, anger still pulsating through her.</p><p>That damn woman, that <em> princess </em>, refusing to listen to others. To look beyond herself and understand that maybe there was more to the old wives' tale than her city mind had convinced her. If she wanted respect, she had to give it back –– and that included listening to Raven who felt the salt of the ocean in her blood and had grown up on the stories.</p><p>She kept walking and walking on. Anything to distance herself from Clarke.</p><p>No one had made her blood boil like she did, even in this short amount of time. Clarke’s ability to get under her skin was infuriating and only equaled by her ability to continually match Raven’s expectations for her. Something about that somehow made this all worse. </p><p>She’d met every challenge head on –– except for the fucking seagull that she’d bashed in. </p><p>The goodwill that Raven had felt, her willingness to forget about it before, was slipping away from her. Raven continued to walk, her mind spinning the further she went. Her feet were automatically moving towards the cliffs. It was her spot where she always went to think but she hadn’t been since Clarke had arrived. Not since that day it had been beautiful and still out and she’d felt the omen of the other woman’s arrival in her bones.</p><p>It all felt too fortuitous but the image of the splattering of the bird’s body was too burned into her vision to think of anything else.</p><p>At least it was until she reached the cliffs, coming to a stop as she looked out over the edge, expecting the crashing of the waves to work their meditative magic. </p><p>That was hope was dashed when a bright spot on the dark rocks caught her eyes.  </p><p>There was something down there.</p><p>Raven lifted her hand to shield her eyes, squinting as she looked out at the rocks below. Straining to see what it was.</p><p>A few seconds later, her mind caught up to her eyes.</p><p>It was a body.</p><p>She took off, pushing herself as hard as she could. Her bad leg fought against her as it always did. Aching and grinding, reminding her with every step that this was a struggle. She couldn’t let herself slow down though. Not as she watched the pale body on the rocks come closer and closer into view. She pushed off of each leg with as much strength as she could muster, the blood running through her veins pounding in her skull, racing down the terrain towards the water. She supposed there was a risk of her slipping; the ground was always damp from being such a small island surrounded by raging waters. But the knee-high thistle and grass, dew-dropped and slick, didn’t scare her as she hurried down. She had faith she wouldn’t slide to her own death –– though what that faith was based on she couldn’t tell.</p><p>Her feet hit the ground with a jolting thud as the ground turned to rocks, growing more uneven as she reached the edge.</p><p>Maneuvering her way down, her heaving breath was loud even to her own ears.</p><p>Closer, closer.</p><p>The body wasn’t moving and she felt her heart in her throat, contracting in and then out as it tried to keep up with her.</p><p>She was just in reach of the body now. </p><p>Almost stumbling, the pace she’d set for herself finally catching up to her, Raven scrambled around the giant rocks to get near the body. Small pools of ocean water that had been caught by the shore were disturbed by her clunky boots as she splashed through them. </p><p>She practically collapsed to her knees once she got to it, ignoring the shooting pain that reverberated through her joints.</p><p>It was a woman.</p><p>If it hadn’t been for the fact that she’d just gotten finished screaming at Clarke, she would have thought it was her. Blonde hair was strewn against the muddy gray stone, covering the woman’s face. Her skin was pale, nearly translucent. It was impossible to tell how long she’d been out there in the water.</p><p>Hands clammy, Raven leaned forward to check her pulse.</p><p>And that was when she saw the gills.</p><p>Her movements stuttered; her eyes wide as she looked down.</p><p>The woman’s torso was bare, making Raven initially divert her eyes to protect the woman’s modesty. But as she’d reached for the woman’s wrist to check her pulse, she’d unwittingly glanced up.  </p><p>Fleshy gills ragged at the edge as they slowly moved in and out as the person breathed. </p><p>Faintly, Raven realized in part that it meant the person was thankfully alive. </p><p>But that was secondary to the realization that she was very much off in her assumption that she was looking at a person. Or at least, not a whole person.</p><p>Her breathing became shallow as she jarringly shifted her eyes to her left. </p><p>She would have normally been nervous to allow herself the moment to observe a woman’s body without her awareness, Raven preferred nude partners around her to be fully awake regardless of their gender. But beyond looking for potential injuries, she had something else she was looking for now. Something she would have never imagined to be washed upon her shore.</p><p>The scales started off as a faded blue gray, almost silver against the woman’s pale skin. </p><p>As they traveled down to her lower half, they grew into a deeper blue, somehow still shimmering just so under the muted gray sky. A rich, stormy blue that Raven felt like she could drown in. A blue so familiar that her head jerked back up to the mermaid’s face.</p><p>The mermaid was sitting up now and Raven only had a second to process that she looked almost identical to Clarke before the mermaid opened her mouth and began to scream.</p><p>It wasn’t one of agony.</p><p>It wasn’t one of pain.</p><p>But the shrill, piercing cry sliced through the sound of the crashing waves beside them and made Raven almost feel woozy. She clapped her hands to her ears, stumbling backwards to her feet. Her knee groaned at her as she moved quickly.</p><p>With her hands subduing the sounds around her, Raven could almost swear that the scream had something melodic to it. As if it was always meant to be heard through a filter, maybe through the depths of the ocean and not above the water.</p><p>Raven couldn’t focus on that though.</p><p>She began to race back to the lighthouse.</p><p>Above her, the clouds were darkening and beginning to roll in. It was like they’d been brought in from the mermaid’s siren call. </p><p>If she’d thought the run down was difficult, the run back up was twice as such. Stumbling, trying to stop herself from slipping against the slick dirt that quickly turned into mud as the moisture in the air collected.</p><p>She felt a spit of rain against her.</p><p>The storm was going to overtake the island. She could feel it in the winds; it would engulf the land for days. Weeks, if they were lucky.</p><p>She was practically wheezing when she finally reached the lighthouse. Flickering light from the windows conveyed that Clarke was inside safely and Raven numbly wondered how she’d gotten from the sea back up here so quickly. But then she had to remind herself that she’d probably hallucinated the whole thing because there was no way that Clarke was a siren of the sea. </p><p>But what if Clarke wasn’t inside? Maybe she had been at the sea.</p><p>She flung the door open and stumbled in, gasping at the sudden warmth. It was a far cry from what the average person would most likely keep their home at, but the tiny fireplace that Clarke was now standing beside was providing more warmth than Raven could have ever asked for.</p><p>Clarke looked up at her in surprise at her sudden arrival.</p><p>They held their stare with each other for a prolonged moment.</p><p>Raven couldn’t tell if she was waiting to see if suddenly a tail would appear or if Clarke would admit to anything. Was there anything even to admit? Was she imagining all of the connections? </p><p>None of that happened. Instead, Clarke simply clucked in disapproval and stalked across the room towards her.</p><p>“You’ll catch your death like that. I wouldn’t be much of a medic if I let that happen, not when you still haven’t shown me how to do everything around here.”</p><p>That was when Raven looked down at herself, startled. </p><p>She was covered in water, her clothes drenched and tight to her body. A glance out the window showed that it was beginning to rain –– but she didn’t remember that from when she’d been running in. Which meant it could have been ocean water, but she didn’t remember any waves crashing above her ankles.</p><p>So in shock by the unexplained situation, Raven could only stand there as Clarke guided her down the hallway towards the washroom, collecting a fresh pair of clothing on the way. </p><p>Clarke, to her credit, didn’t let her eyes move from Raven’s face as she undressed. But somehow that felt even more intense and it sent a flurry of goosebumps down her spine (none related to the chill from the storm).</p><p>Those blue eyes were staring directly into her and Raven almost found herself back at the shore, her hands hovering above the mermaid. </p><p>But there were no cold scales here, no gills to be seen.</p><p>Just Clarke, standing very close to her, with a magnetism that still made Raven feel like she was drowning in her eyes. And even without a tail or an entrancing melody, Raven couldn’t shake that familiar feeling that she’d felt down on the rocks.</p><p>She almost had half-a-mind to take a step forward, closing the game between them, when Clarke gave her a crooked smile.</p><p>“I’ll leave you to take care of yourself, now that I am no longer fearful of you getting hypothermia,” she said softly. She then reached over and gently pulled Raven’s hair out of its braid, letting it fall loosely out. She shivered at the sensation of the damp strands connecting with her bare back. She clutched the towel tighter to her chest. </p><p>And then Clarke turned and left the small washroom. </p><p>Now alone after everything that had happened, Raven collapsed into her posture and let out a long breath. </p><p>When had this new type of tension appeared?</p><p>A part of it was no doubt from that night when they’d opened up to each other. Shedding those masks they held onto so tightly. But then again, had she not found Clarke attractive the moment she’d opened that door? Each time she held up her own standards and met each of Raven’s tasks head on? </p><p>As she washed herself, she tried to untangle the mess that was in front of her. The chance that she’d been attracted to Clarke for much longer than just this heated moment meant multiple things. Was she trying to keep herself from being hurt if Clarke didn’t return those feelings? Most likely, but she was starting to believe that she was misinterpreting Clarke by holding onto that fear. That look Clarke had given her minutes ago certainly seemed to prove otherwise. </p><p>Washing her leg, dipping an old bristled brush into the bucket of water and scrubbing at it, gave her a flashback to the dream she’d had the other night. </p><p>She was no stranger to dreams like that, though she was often too tired to remember anything that came to her mind in her slumber.</p><p>That one stood out though. As the brush passed by her inner thighs, she felt a flicker of heat.</p><p>No. She held herself back from giving into the temptation to explore that feeling further.</p><p>It was one thing when it came to the absence of touch. Which to be fair, it had been a while since she’d last been kissed let alone been with anyone that intimately. But now, with full consciousness, she couldn’t bring herself to relieve the sudden pressing need in her. Not when Clarke was in the kitchen and her face burned at the idea that somehow she’d know. She wouldn’t be able to handle the embarrassment.</p><p>So she instead focused on cleaning herself up, warming her body up with the lukewarm water from the bucket and coals beneath it. Then, once she was dressed in a new set of her work clothes, she made her way back out. </p><p>She had to gain some sense of normalcy.</p><p>Anything to stop herself from accidentally blurting out to Clarke that she thought of her in the most private of situations and was also curious if she would like to kiss her.</p><p>Clarke was standing over a pot of who knows what. Raven appreciated the notion, though cooking was far from one of Clarke’s talents. But then thinking about her talents made Raven’s mind slip into wondering what else she was good at, were a medic’s hands as gentle in bed as they were handling a patient, so she had to mentally change course as quickly as she could before she slipped up.</p><p>So instead, she focused on what she always did. The lighthouse.</p><p> “When was your time here supposed to end?”</p><p>Clarke blinked rapidly before she realized what Raven was talking about.</p><p>Most wickies were exchanged over time, to help alleviate the stresses of caring for the lighthouse. Raven hadn’t left her post since coming out here though. There were whispers that this one was cursed. Whether or not it was, as much as death could still shroud it, she felt like the only person capable of manning it. </p><p>That first full day she vaguely recalled Clarke mentioning an end date, and she was sure the telegram had mentioned one but she hadn’t been able to find it since that day.</p><p>“Oh, I believe it was sometime soon? The next coming days?” Clarke’s brow furrowed as she thought deeply.</p><p>In response, the wind beat against the exterior.</p><p>“The winds have changed,” Raven said with a shake of her head. </p><p>“And it’ll change again by midday I gather,” Clarke replied, as if it was nothing. As if the ocean wasn’t on its way to pound against their door with waves that could destroy a ship in a single crash.</p><p>“Don’t be foolish,” Raven retorted. She luckily didn’t sound angry, because she didn’t want Clarke to think she was mad at her. Not anymore. She needed to sort out the emotions running through her and that was easier when her mind wasn’t clouded with anger.</p><p>“Earlier, those days before, were the calm before the storm. There’s nothing here to block it and there’s nothing here to change its course. We need to board up the signal house windows.”</p><p>Clarke nodded and then paused, looking at Raven curiously.</p><p>Belatedly, she realized it was because she had never once referred to a task as a joint one between the two of them. It was always just delegation, not collaboration.</p><p>She didn’t say anything, but she saw the genuine smile quirking at the corners of Clarke’s lips as they hurried back out into the storm to secure the building.  </p><p>The storm proved to be the most violent, intense one Raven had ever experienced –– stationed at the lighthouse or not.</p><p>The wind tore at the sides of the building, trying to tear it apart. Rain beat the earth, drumming against the windows to the point of not being able to look outside. A wash of dark gray encompassed everything. It was like life had turned black and white in the absence of the sun, or even any small break in the clouds. It was ferocious, roaring and whistling with the power that only nature could have.</p><p>It was disorienting in the building. Day and night were barely different in regard to light. Their lanterns were measly attempts at brightening the dark rooms.</p><p>Work on the outside paused for the most part, left only to brave out a few emergency situations and Raven checking on the light. Despite its draw, she withheld herself from it. As much as she wanted to lose herself in it, she couldn’t leave Clarke alone in this type of weather. They had to stick together as much as possible.</p><p>So that meant that when the light was set and the storm raged outside, she instead lost herself in the gin. And to her relief so that she wouldn’t be drinking alone, Clarke continued to join her as well.</p><p>Raven lost track of the days. Life was being held in a strange routine. She couldn’t tell when she woke up if it was dawn or dusk. The light stayed on at all times in hopes of saving any potential sailors who hadn’t succumbed to the sea in the storm yet. The alcohol, still cleaner than the water despite Clarke’s efforts, was a staple to the day now.</p><p>It wasn’t that the two of them drastically changed while they drank, but the tension and rollicking relationship they’d formed only heightened during this time.</p><p>Once the initial days of the storm passed and they developed their new routine, they fell into waves of new patterns.</p><p>At first, it was primarily arguing.  </p><p>One night it was over lobster.</p><p>Over fucking lobster.</p><p>Most people didn’t get to have nice supper during hard weather. But when you were on an island, even a treacherous one like this, the nets always managed to catch up something nice.</p><p>“You don’t like my lobster?” She’d called out angrily to Clarke, storming after her into the kitchen. </p><p>She thought of the sharp-faced chef she’d met in the city before leaving here, the one who’d taught her how to cook. He’d insisted, telling her that if she didn’t know how her stomach would be the death of her long before any storm or accident caused it. Murphy would certainly be appalled now to know that the lobster recipe he’d shown her was being insulted. </p><p>“I ate it, didn’t I?” came the snappy reply.</p><p>The half-mutilated shells had remained on her tin plate with meat still in them. Raven had seen it when she’d rushed to the kitchen.</p><p>Raven made it to the breezeway before letting out a scream that was lost in the whistling winds around them. Oh how she wished Neptune would strike that pickiness and pretentiousness that still found its way to come out in Clarke’s personality some days.</p><p>Thunder had answered her.</p><p>Later, the two of them splashed each other with water they’d lugged in for cleaning and chased each other around the kitchen, laughter bubbling over as hysteria from being cooped took its hold for a little while.</p><p>How long had they been on this rock? Five weeks? Two days?</p><p>Raven couldn’t recollect. </p><p>At one point––Raven couldn't tell if it was the same night as the lobster, it could have been a fortnight into the storm–– they were dancing.</p><p>She couldn’t remember the last time she had danced.</p><p>Clarke’s voice was low and husky as she sang, a shanty that reminded Raven of home that she’d hear the sailors sing at the harbor. Outside, the rain was coming down in a deluge, flooding the island. She wasn’t even sure if she’d had much to drink or if it was the spinning around the room that was making her feel dizzy. Or maybe it was heat coming from Clarke’s body and the way she smelled, like she’d stepped out from the sea and the salt had mingled with her natural scent in a way that put Raven’s nerves on fire.</p><p>They spun, faster and faster.</p><p>Around and around the room. In another life, they’d have full skirts that swished against each other as they danced. Instead, they shed their boots and danced in their work clothes: oil stained button ups that were long past their original shade of white linen, gray heavy-fabric trousers. </p><p>For Raven, there was a better honesty in this. And somehow, it was exactly how she wanted both of them.</p><p>Clarke’s hum in her ears made her laugh, tickling against her. Somewhere along the way, she changed which song she was singing. More haunting than the one before. The gin that had made Raven feel light and airy earlier now made her feel warm. She melted into Clarke’s arms, trying to listen to the words while also maintaining her balance.</p><p>They slowly came to a stop in the center of the room. Their bodies were pressed together and Raven could feel Clarke’s chest against hers, making her blush and thankful for the dark lighting of the room. </p><p>This time, unlike in the washroom the day of the storm’s beginning, Clarke’s eyes didn’t stay on Raven’s. They dropped to her lips, down to the dark slit of her shirt that had come loose as she’d unbuttoned it lower than normal to relieve the heat of drinking.</p><p>All of the fighting that had occurred during Clarke’s stay here so far felt a build up to this. Raven could just as easily see them bantering with each other now as she could imagine them dropping onto the lumpy sofa shoved into the back and ripping their clothes off of each other. What would that voice of hers sound like in the throes of ecstasy, in comparison to her singing? Raven had a feeling it would sound like music to her ears no matter what.</p><p>The tension of their arguments had bled into this, the two of them standing still as the heavy sound of their breathing was lost to the sound of the storm.</p><p>Clarke was considering something; Raven could see it in her eyes.</p><p>Her lips were practically hovering over hers. There was only a breath of space between them, but for whatever reason Raven still couldn’t bring herself to close it. A self torture, a tease? She couldn’t be sure.</p><p>Even the bravado that Clarke had demonstrated earlier, sweeping Raven into her arms when they first began to dance, had eased away. She was more cautious now. Not that the intensity was any less, Raven could feel her heartbeat pounding against her ribcage and wondered if Clarke could feel it against her own. But the headiness of the moment had frozen them in place. Their dance, in both the literal and metaphorical terms, had come to a pause.</p><p>The question was who would make the first move.</p><p>It would only take just a second, the smallest of movements. Raven could almost feel the way their mouths could move against each other. The foreplay of their previous days’ arguments could only hint towards an energy that could crackle between them in any other way. </p><p>But then a crack of lightning split the sky outside.</p><p>A flash of light illuminated the room.</p><p>The entanglement they found themselves in felt both like a posture for dancing and a stance to begin to wrestle. As it always was with Clarke, Raven wasn’t sure what it would be.</p><p>The lightning had broken it though and suddenly she could feel the amount of liquor inside her. Churning in her, staining her tongue with its bitter flavor. </p><p>It was like Clarke recognized the fading signs in Raven’s eyes. She leaned in, but instead brushed her lips against her cheekbone.</p><p>“You need to sleep, Raven. I have a suspicion that you had more than I did to drink,” she whispered. Raven nodded in return.</p><p>When she fell asleep, escorted back to her room by Clarke––who was much more sober than she’d thought she was, Raven felt the faintest of kisses to her forehead. </p><p>That night, Raven’s dreams were once again filled with the touch of a siren and her slumber was deep.</p><p>XXX </p><p>It was late morning when Raven woke up to silence. </p><p>She blinked blearily, rubbing her face as she slowly pulled herself into a seated position. </p><p>The storm was gone.</p><p>It was almost disorienting to not hear the turmoil of the weather outside, trying to break its way through the walls and take the two of them out to be lost in the sea. She had the faintest of pulsating headaches and Raven reluctantly admitted to herself that during that time, they’d probably depleted most of the stache of gin. </p><p>It meant though that they’d be able to do a full survey of the lighthouse and what damages the storm had caused. No doubt a numerous amount. It would take a lot of work, she and Clarke would––</p><p><em> Clarke </em>.</p><p>The bed beside her was empty, unmade. Something that Clarke never did.</p><p>Raven hurtled herself out of bed, scrambling to find her pants and heavy work boots. In minutes, she was hurrying down the breezeway and out of the house. The fresh air of the morning, filled with the scent of rainwater and the sea, assaulted her sense as she ran out. The mildly annoying headache flared angrily at her as she blinked against the brightness of the day, so different than the blackened skies from the storm. But there was no time to worry about her ailments. She had to find Clarke.</p><p>She repeatedly began to call out the woman’s name, stalking up and down the land.</p><p>A part of her feared it had somehow all been a dream. That the breaking of the storm meant that it was all over and Raven was back to being by herself. </p><p>“CLARKE!”</p><p>Her voice cracked as she called out once again.</p><p>Maybe she’d fallen somewhere and become injured. A long-awaited revenge from a sailor’s soul that had been destroyed by her hands. Maybe her body was strewn out on the rocks, being picked at by vengeful birds, maybe––</p><p>“Raven! I’m over here, what’s going on?”</p><p>She spotted the golden blonde hair first. Followed by Clarke’s anxious face, concern taking over her as she hurried over towards her. </p><p>“Are you hurt? I was at the shore this morning, I’m so sorry for scaring you. I imagined the storm had brought in a good bounty of fish into the nets, I was hoping to surprise you today,” she explained.</p><p>Raven crashed into her, pulling her into a tight hug. She clung to Clarke’s embrace, indulging herself in the feel of the other woman against her. No gin coursing through them. No raging storm heightening stakes and driving them to recklessness. The air and their minds were clear. </p><p>Clarke’s hands were tight against her face, keeping them connected as she deepened the kiss. Both of their lips were chapped from the winds and dehydration after being confined for such a long storm. But it was invigorating, awakening her. Sea salt and sand were in Clarke’s hair and Raven could only momentarily wonder what she’d been up to before her mind blanked out at the feel of Clarke’s teeth nipping at her lower lip. </p><p>The bite felt familiar, a combination of a dream and a memory. </p><p>They lost themselves in each other, the day’s breeze dancing around each other as they let their mouths learn what each other liked.</p><p>Eventually though, despite her best efforts, Raven needed to breathe again. So she reluctantly pulled back, running a hand through Clarke’s wild and tangled hair. </p><p>“The chance of you coming here, I still cannot believe it.”</p><p>Clarke let out a breathless laugh. “Raven, you still don’t understand it. I was <em> sent </em> to you.”</p><p>She waited expectantly, staring intently at her as she waited for Raven to get it. Realization dawned on her as she fell deeper into the ocean of Clarke’s eyes. The scrimshaw, the mermaid on the rocks. The vendetta she’d had against the seabird –– maybe knowing more about trapped souls than even Raven did. The way that her eyes churned like the waters Raven saw every day, a blue that had the power to swallow her whole and drag her under.</p><p>And she knew.</p><p>Clarke had been sent to her, to her island off of Arkadia.</p><p>While the directive had been from Jaha in Polis, it wasn’t him that had chosen her to come. Maybe even the person he’d thought he’d been sending hadn’t been her at all. Raven didn’t know how this worked.</p><p>But Clarke had been sent here for her. To be by her side. To protect her. Heal her.</p><p>She didn’t understand it at all. But she understood the feel of the blood pulsating within her and the hungry expression on Clarke’s face. The wild freedom that Clarke had brought with her, cascading into her life and challenging her to accept help. To see beyond just the time spent locked away in her own tower, under the guise of saving lives.</p><p> “I saw you at the light,” Clarke murmured, her forehead resting against Raven’s. She almost flinched at the outside memory. <em> When had that been? </em></p><p>Clarke just chuckled, using her thumb to gently sweep Raven’s cheekbone from where her hand cradled her cheeks.</p><p>“Every time you’ve gone up, every night. I see the way the light absorbs you. The way you look back up at it. I can tell how the power of Poseidon runs through you and how you’re transformed.”  </p><p>The comparison left Raven speechless, the imagery too similar to the freedom she felt from the light. Where she was stripped raw. Knowing that Clarke had seen her like that made a different type of thrum race through her body. Not necessarily even lust, but something more powerful. The power that Clarke saw in her was something that Raven had been chasing her whole life, never quite sure if she was truly finding it out here on this forsaken rock. But it appeared that maybe she really had.</p><p>“Walk with me,” Raven found herself saying.</p><p>It took every bit of strength within her to not drag Clarke to the ground right here and show her how thankful she was to have her here. For to be alive, to be safe, to be the answer to a need she didn’t know she had. But after such a contentious time between the two of them and the delirium of the storm, she knew that having a grounded conversation was the right choice to make.</p><p>There was of course always time for everything else later. </p><p>The two of them began to walk towards the beach, their feet guiding them on instinct. It was the same path that Raven had taken when she’d found the siren that fateful day and she watched the back of Clarke as she walked up ahead, once again wondering if it had been a hallucination or a real memory.</p><p>Each taking their shoes off, Raven couldn’t help the light giggle that broke from her as the wet sand squished up between her toes.</p><p>The sun was slowly rising up against the horizon, almost white against the pale blue sky.</p><p>“Will you explain everything to me now?” Raven asked, breaking the quiet.</p><p>“You are an intelligent woman, Raven.” Clarke’s tone was almost admonishing, if it wasn’t for the proud grin she was wearing. Her hand reached out and caught Raven’s and entangled her fingers with hers.</p><p>“Tell me what you believe it is.”</p><p>Raven considered her.</p><p>“None of it was a coincidence, was it?” She didn’t seem to need to relay all of the instances back to Clarke. Somehow Raven knew that she knew exactly what she was talking about. “They all relate back to you.”</p><p>Memories seemed to churn behind Clarke’s eyes. She looked out at the ocean, now still and calm. It was similar to the day that she’d received the telegram. She had been right about the omen it turned out, but not in the way she’d originally thought. It turned out to be a good omen after all.</p><p>“Out on sea,” she said distantly, the tide breaking gently at her ankles, “we almost crashed. I’ve never been a woman of faith. I’ve seen too much death to believe. But in that moment, as we almost capsized and I watched crewmates be swept away, I prayed. I prayed to the sea to hear my call.”</p><p>Raven stared at her. </p><p>For a woman who had pushed aside her tales of the seabirds, her own story was a marvel of its own.</p><p>Clarke cast a side glance back over her, her lips curving into a confident smile. </p><p>“When the morning came, we’d been saved. The ship was righted, the remaining crew safe and sound.”</p><p>“And what did you do in return?”</p><p>The small fishing town that Raven was from was ripe with stories. The wives’ tales were numerous, but they all had similar warnings. The sea was fickle, a challenging lover. Fishermen based their livelihood on it, sailors drowned in the very place they’d trained. Everything came with a price.</p><p>“I’m not worried about Davy Jones, if that’s what you’re asking me,” Clarke teased. Her tone softened though as Raven continued to look at her in concern.</p><p>“It is… nothing that I will regret losing. Not at least in regard to how I want to live out the rest of my life. At the time, I hadn’t known the power that sirens held but they seemed confident in my choice, as if they knew it would work out. Though I do believe I will also have to remain close to the ocean,” her smile came slightly back, “to maintain some of the gifts they gave me in exchange.”</p><p>“I would say so,” Raven responded, rubbing her thumb against the knuckles of Clarke’s hands. “Though now that you have me, I don’t suppose you’ll need to attempt to flirt with me through my dreams again. Now that you have me.”</p><p>A rosy blush tinged Clarke’s cheeks as she let out a laugh of embarrassment, looking back out on the water. She then turned to Raven, shaking her head and her smile. Affection radiated off of her.</p><p>“No, I don’t suppose I will,” she spoke softly.</p><p>They paused at the lighthouse tower on the way back up the island, stopping to kiss once more. A soft one this time, a promise attached to it. Then Clarke went on her way to check for damages from the storm, while Raven went to inspect the light.</p><p>And for the first time since she’d arrived on the island, Raven was able to perform her duties as a lightkeeper while resisting the draw of the light. </p><p>Though the jewel of a light still hummed with energy, it’s pull was gone for Raven. The lightness she’d felt in its presence wasn’t required anymore. She would still seek out to understand its dazzling construction, but she no longer needed it like she once did.</p><p>She didn’t need to become lost anymore, not when she’d finally been found.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <b>Terms to know:</b>
</p><ol>
<li>wickie: a nickname for lighthouse keepers, inspired by their task of trimming candle wicks</li> 
<li>dog watch: a maritime work shift that is half the length of a standard watch period, traditionally completed during the afternoon and early evening</li>
<li>scrimshaw: scrollwork, engravings, and carvings done in bone or ivory –– traditionally created by whalers and sometimes doubled as tools</li>
<li>cistern: a tank for storing (usually rain) water, especially one supplying taps, drinking water, or as part of a flushing toilet</li>
<li>3rd-order Fresnel lens: a very large light with tiered layers to it, allowing for great aperture and a shorter focal length to allow for more light to travel [photo] – this is directly picked from the lens choice in the film</li>


I have some more exciting stories coming up (multiple that somehow involve sea shanties including this one) that are a part of the initiative as well and I can’t wait to share those as well! If you happened to have seen <i>The Lighthouse</i>, I hope you enjoyed all of the easter eggs in here that are direct references from the movie and its script. And even if you haven’t, I hope you liked the story anyway! Don’t forget to check out <a href="https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/">t100 Fic for Black Lives Matter</a> and submit a prompt with a donation!</ol><p><b>where else you can find me:</b> <a href="https://she-who-the-river-could-not-hold.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://twitter.com/the_river_held">Twitter</a> | <a href="https://she-who-the-river-could-not-hold.carrd.co/">my carrd</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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